


The Case of Molly Hooper

by canibecandid



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canibecandid/pseuds/canibecandid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was an odd thing, the case that surrounded Molly Hooper, and she often wondered if she'd be able to solve it at all. To gain back what she'd lost in the pale risings of the sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Curious Case of Molly Hooper

**Author's Note:**

> It started out as a drabble on Tumblr and I decided to move it to AO3 and FFN so that it reached a wider audience. I hope you enjoy!

My Name is Molly.

I’m short compared to some and tall compared to no one, and really, that’s fine by me.

Because at a time like this, it almost pays to be a mouse. No one sees you in the dawn, in the haze of the morning while the rest of the world sleeps. Most people think of the reds and yellows of morning, I prefer the blues and purples. 

It lends kind of a mysterious and romantic lilt to the otherwise gray city. I love it.

I love that I’m the only one who sees it this way, chasing the colors as my feet hit the pavement below, running from the rising sun behind me. It’s almost a game that I’ve made and it’s as free as I think I’ll ever be. Chasing something that will never exist outside of my mind, and in my ears I can hear the snapping of a Belstaff.

My heart lurches and my lungs burn, and I’m sure that it has nothing to do with the running. Tears sting the corner of my eyes and I finally feel the chilling blast of wind that the buildings that surround me. My feet come to a halt as the blue is finally being chased away and I feel the sun heating my back. I see my breath come in puffs of white and my chest heaves, sucking in the cool air as I hold my hand out. The sun rises further and I watch the blue casting on my arm turn into a sunny yellow with a frown. It slides slowly down my arm, caressing and weaving through the shadows. I do nothing to stop it, even as the blue shading that I love so dearly is chased right down to my fingertips and then gone from there as well.

People start poking their heads out their windows, and they glance around me, shuffling to get their papers or the post. And with the heat of the sun on my back, I walk back to my flat.

* * *

 

My name is Molly Hooper, or at least that’s what I tell myself.

It is the name I found on the ID badge in the jacket next to me and her face looks like mine, though covered by large glasses. My head spins and I hold it tenderly. Everything hurts.

I draw my hands away and figure out why. Red and flowing, I know instantly that this is my blood. I am not afraid. Who am I?

Molly Hooper, at least that’s what the sergeant calls me. She’s very lovely as she drapes the warm blanket over my shoulders and tries to ask me questions from the back of the ambulance.

"This is Sergeant Donovan, notify emergency contacts of Molly Hooper that there has been an incident."

A man named Anderson radios back informing him that there is no one listed. I don’t know why, but it makes me sad for Molly, sad for myself I suppose.

The staff at the hospital are very kind, they smile sweetly but I find that I do not like it. It doesn’t settle right, it feels wrong.

A doctor Watson asks to see me, I am tired of seeing doctors.

 

* * *

 

"I don’t understand." I tell Dr. Watson, who has come to visit me for the past three days, he looks at me somberly and paces the room. I want to leave, I want to go home, wherever that maybe, I want- I want something.

"You run every day, that’s why you’re feeling restless. Get some sleep."

I don’t fight Watson, something tells me that I never do, but I don’t want to close my eyes either. I guess I must have because when I wake up, there are a pair of pink trainers on the visitor’s chair and a fresh change of clothes. 

Doctor’s are paged, but none of them are Watson, they tell me about my discharge paperwork and how to get home. They leave me to get dressed.

The clothes don’t fit, almost as if I am hiding from myself, but they are comfortable and soft. I like them, even if they aren’t quite right. The trainers don’t match but they feel familiar, unlike everything else.

The apartment where I live is clean and organized, I hadn’t expected that and I wonder why. A little white pawed dwarf cat dashes to me and mewls at my feet.

"Toby." It is the first thing that I can honestly remember and I cry a little as I drop to him and hold him close. He’s affectionate for a cat and I feel happy for that. At least I wasn’t always alone.

* * *

 

I am Molly Hooper, and I can cut up dead things.

Dr. Watson tells me so as he accesses the morgue. He tells me that I help solve murders sometimes, but that mostly I like reassuring families. He brings me a bunch of pale blue flowers and places them in my office. They are my favorite and they match his eyes. 

"Sentiment." He says and I wonder if he’s said that to me before. I smile up to him as we hover over a partially opened body bag. I sweep my hair to the right and my hands guide it in a familiar motion. As soon as that happens, I find that getting back to work is much easier than I expected.

A round older man comes to check on me around lunch, he hugs me closely and weeps a little while patting my cheek. I feel bad that I’ve made him like this and I try my best to calm him down.

"Oh there’s our Molly, always looking out for everyone else." 

I ask Watson if I do that a lot and the older man looks confused at the sound of Watson’s name. I must not be the only person with memory loss around here.

After lunch, we go back to the lab and a thin black hair man is waiting with his arms crossed. 

"I recognized those cuts, it’s nice to see you haven’t lost your edge, Hooper." The smile he gives could almost be considered friendly if it weren’t for the glare he was giving Dr. Watson.

"Samuel Anderson, I know this is hard for you." He holds his hand out to shake and I do it cautiously.

"Don’t patronize her, Anderson, Dr. Hooper has been doing just fine." Dr. Watson snaps from beside me.

I hate it when they argue. I’ve decided and I steer Watson back into the lab and away from Anderson.

We do not talk about the scathing “Freak.” that Anderson hurls as he walk away. But my heart hurts for him anyway.

"Sentiment, Molly."

* * *

 

His name is not John Watson. And that is all I know.

"Am I even Molly Hooper?" I ask. I do not understand. Everything hurts and I do not know why.

His face looks romantic in the pale blues of the rising sun. He reaches for me, this man who has lied to me takes my hand, and I let him.

 I am angry that he has lied to me, but something tells me that there is a reason.

"I am Sherlock Holmes and you are not Molly Hooper." He holds out a another badge for me to take, one that had been snapped off of a lanyard.

_Molly Holmes, Pathologist._


	2. The Continuing Case of Molly Hooper

_Your name is Molly Holmes, nee Hooper._  
Occupation: Pathologist   
Age: 32

_-SH_

It’s the first thing she sees upon waking up in her bed,  _their bed_ , Molly reminds herself, still giving the alarm an annoyed look as it continued to let of it’s shrill noises. The little pink post-it note fluttered a little as she let out a long sigh and she plucked it off, trying to make out the messy scrawl. She lifts the first note and glances at the second one.

_You hit the snooze button twice every morning, giving yourself an extra thirty minutes of rest. I simply do not understand why you do not just get up._

_\- SH_

With a lazy grin, she slaps her hand on the snooze and snuggles back into the warmth of her covers. True to the notes prediction, her hand shot out of the covers and hit the alarm of it’s own accord two more times before she groaned and flipped the covers off of herself. 

What was she supposed to do anyway? Because though she’d proved that her practical skills were still intact, she still couldn’t remember critical terminology or the new filing system they had in place at St. Bart’s. A quick glance at her phone told her that Mike said to familiarize herself with her surroundings. Still, she got out of bed and looked around her room. 

And then she blinked. Once. Twice. And a third for good measure. 

Every surface was littered with pink sticky notes with Sherlock’s illegible scrawl giving her instructions of her routine. 

_Blue toothbrush, bargain brand._  
Mint Toothpaste, bargain brand.  
You have the money, you’re thrifty.

_-SH_

or

_Hair appliances, bottom left drawer._  
Out of sight, out of mind.  
Side styling suits you.

_-SH_

Molly’s lips quirked into a grin. She wasn’t sure why because she felt under other circumstances she’d be irritated.  _But it’s just Sherlock, he’s actually trying._  She shrugged and then froze, realizing that she was pleased with his efforts to make sure that she was okay. It- It made her happy to know he cared.

_We’re married, why wouldn’t he care?_  She was puzzled but thought nothing of it.  _Effort_  a portion of her mind responded. She was pleased that he’d taken the effort to do this for her.  _Alright then, probably not the husband of the year._ Molly said to herself, glancing around the room again.  _But he certainly cares,  in his own way._

She walked over to the dresser drawers and read the notes on top.

_Socks, top left drawer on the left side_  
Pants, top right drawer on the left side  
No night shirts to speak of. Left a few case shirts instead. Bottom right drawer.

_-SH_

She pulled open the drawer and looked at the well worn shirts, running her fingers over them. She really couldn’t picture Sherlock wearing any of these, not when he looked like he’d trotted right off of a runway.

Molly pulled open another drawer that was empty and her heart sank, the little pink sticker read:

_Moved things back to Bakers Street.  
_ _-SH_

She rubbed her breast bone, the lump in her throat still forming. It felt like she’d unintentionally hurt him. He wouldn’t say it in so many words, she knew that much.

Walking over to the closet, she pulled out various things with sticky notes on them. Much of it looked new, things that look expensive and her hands sweated a little as she looked at them with wide eyes. 

_A gift from Mummy before the incident.  
_ _Don’t ask about the price._

_-SH_

_P.S. I know you’re thinking about it. Stop it._

She laughed a little and took out the items, looking at the smaller green sticky tabs. They all read “Sherlock’s Pick” on them. They looked well tailored and very chic but something didn’t sit quite right. So she turned back to the closet and dug around a bit. She dug out a pair of khakis and a ruffled blouse, spying the note on it Molly rolled her eyes.

_Had to try._

_-SH_

In her shoving around the closet a box labeled J. Moriarty tumbled down. The pink note read;

_Under no circumstances will you open this box.  
_ -SH

Molly did not open the box. 

After getting dressed she wondered around the flat, collecting little notes as she went. Notes about where things were, where she sat, different things she ate.

_You hate cherry jell-o, don’t eat the cherry jell-o. Grapes are behind the head._

_-SH_

_Don’t throw out the toes._

_-SH_

She laughed at the ridiculousness of this man. Molly nearly jumped out of her skin as she felt something rub against her leg, looking down she saw a tabby circle between her and rubbing affectionately on her legs. Attached to the middle of his back was a pink note.

_Cat is yours, Toby, overly-affectionate and horrible judgment in male figures. Not as annoying as he could be, I suppose. Probably needs to be fed at some point._

_-SH_

Molly laughed, plucking the note off and giving Toby’s head a scratch and following the directions to the cat food.

"Well Toby, what are we going to do today?" She mused as she leaned on the counter. There were notes that indicated that she liked to bake, knit, drink tea, and read books. Striding over to the couch, she picked up a well loved book with the title  _The_   _Beekeeper’s Lament._

The title didn’t feel familiar but she sat down on the couch and pulled the blanket over her feet, as the note instructed that she often did, and gave it a shot anyway. About 10 pages in Molly groaned, how did she make it through this book so many times? But turning to the next page, a little pink note was stuck to it.

_Book is probably dull to you. Had to try anyway. Your collection of romance novels is by the fire place. Austen is your favorite._

_\- SH_

She shook her head as she rose and strode over to the bookshelf nestled next to the unlit fire place. Her fingers traced over the spines and the action felt familiar.  _Pride and Prejudice_ was taken from her spot and she opened the cover.

_Told you so._

_-SH_

Molly laughed, bringing her fingers to her lips and her shoulders shook silently. She looked around her flat and the feeling left her. It felt, small and empty now that she’d collected most of the note that had been scattered about. It felt sad and, frankly, very lonely. Her heart clenched and she raced to the door. A little pink note fluttered to the ground and she snatched it up from the floor.

_Don’t forget your coat._

_-SH_

Molly took the sleek black coat and behind it read:  _Don’t forget your bag._

She grabbed that too and rushed out the door, forgetting to lock it behind her. Molly rushed down her stairs and down to the street, hailing a cab.

"221 Bakers Street." She told the cabbie, the address coming to her naturally. Molly pushed her hands into the pockets of the coat to keep them from shaking as the cab took off, and she pulled out a crumpled note from her pocket.

_I lied, this is not your favorite coat.  
-SH_

"You ridiculous man." Molly muttered, staring out the window and thumbing the note. The cab pulled to her destination and she hopped out, throwing notes to the cabbie, ignoring the stickies reading 

_Too much for a tip._

She hesitated at the door before letting herself in and climbing the stairs to the upper flat. Molly knocked on the door and heard a shuffling and bored drone of “Come in.” but the door flung open to a messily clad Sherlock, in his blue robe and flannels.

"Molly." He was surprised that she was here but moved out of her way to let her in. She scanned around the room nervously.  _Oh his office space is a mess!_  The little voice cried in her mind, recognizing the things missing from her flat. She turned to face him and stopped as she took in the dark circles under his eyes and the thinning of his cheeks. He looked almost shy and awkward about how to approach her.

But she lifted her hands and cupped his cheeks, her thumbs tracing his prominent cheek bones.  _Zygoma_  and _malar bone_ flew to the front of her mind and she smiled a little. His eyes closed and he leaned into her touch, relishing in her, and it made her grin a bit wider as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

She reached into her purse and dug out a bright yellow sticky note and stuck it to his cheek. His eyes flew open and he scowled as he plucked it from his face, his face softening as he mouthed the words to himself.

_Come home, with me. To me._

_-Molly Holmes_

The person in question shuffled in front of him, breaking him out of his trance.

"Please?" She asked, her large chocolate eyes sparkling in the dim lighting. He sighed and stepped a little nearer to her.

"If that’s what you think is best."

"I do, I really do." Molly said, her voice firm. "Plus, you can tell me why on Earth I need two riding crops. What do you mean one for the morgue and the other is under the bed?"


	3. The Confirming Case of Molly Hooper

They spend a little more time at his office at Baker Street, where they first lived together and loved together. Sherlock never says it, but he shows her that he loves her in his own special way, and Molly feels that that's how it's always been. Forever taking care of each other and what the other one needs.

They stay for a month, and then Sherlock heads off for a case, so Molly returns back to the little flat. With all their books and clothes, their pictures and memories that she hasn't quite gotten back yet. Released from the cat carrier, Toby rushed back into the flat with a less than elegant trot as he slid on a hall rug and scrambled for purchase.

Her laughter faded in the echoing rooms as she removed her coat and hung it on the hooks, smoothing the fabric down, unsure of what to do next. Her footsteps sound like thunder to her ears as she treads down the little entryway and into the living room. She can see where Sherlock's little touches are and where she's added things too. The skull on the mantel with flowers in it's eye sockets makes her giggle, and she wonders how long he whined and complained about that until he let it go. The glass frame housing pinned bees and their classifications underneath them in Sherlock's handwriting, she wonders if that's maybe something they'd done together.

Her eyes misted over at the sight of them dancing together at what looks like their wedding.  _I like to dance, always have. You don't get to use it much as a detective._  It echoed faintly in her mind, like the static grain leaking over the airwaves of her thoughts. She almost feels his hands on her hip as they swayed to the music, and she holds the picture to her chest.

"Oh Toby, this is so much hard than they told me it was going to be." Molly moaned, flopping backwards on to the couch. Toby barely paused from licking his paw to give a curious look to his owner. "What am I supposed to do?" The cat only gave a small meow in response before stretching out and going to sleep. "Sleep it is, I suppose."

She wouldn't say that the sleep she was getting was exactly restful, but the hurrid clicking of her front door lock jerked her awake. She grabbed the nearest item as she got out of the bed and was ready to swing when Sherlock tumbled through the door.

"Sherlock? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Her hands immediately went searching for bullet wounds or stabs to fix, but his large hands swept her forward and crushed her into his chest.

"You." His voice held the slightest tremor has he rested his head on top of hers and inhaled deeply. "You weren't at Baker Street. I thought-" He didn't finish but held her tighter, if that was possible. Molly listened to his heart hammering in his chest and circle her arms around him.

"I'm here, I'm here."

"When Donovan fou- foun-" He cleared his throat and goes to try again. But she stops him.

"Sherlock, you don't have to say anything. It's okay."

"No, no it isn't. When Donovan found you, when they didn't contact me, everything that was set in place to protect you fell apart.  _I_  fell apart. They wouldn't let me see you, wouldn't let me through…" He paused, drew in another breath. "Donovan should have never had a reason to find you. You would have been safe if I hadn't-"

"No, no. Stop it right there, I chose you. I know that I did. I don't know much anymore, I don't know if I'll ever remember everything, but I  _know_  that I chose you. And I don't think I'll ever regret that."

They stay up the rest of the night, until the hazy skies of London bleed from blue into the rosy hues of the morning.

"I want to know." Molly whispered into his neck, curled into him on the sofa. "I want to know all the things you know about me." Her small nose brushed under his Adam's apple and she placed a small kiss on his jaw before nestling back into his warmth.

Instantly the doors of his Mind Palace burst open and flood down the stairs with memories of Molly, and he sifted through them, trying to figure out where to start. Where to begin?

"We met on the 29th of August in 2007, you had just started at St. Bart's and the youngest pathologist to ever complete and pass the entry exam. Your work is fantastic, always has been. You've published more than previous works at Bart's. That's why you have the best lab equipment."

"So that's why you like my lab." She poked his side a little with a grin and a chuckle that he returns.

"It was much more convenient than I first presumed."

"Well, what else? What about the small things?"

The small things? What did she consider small exactly?  _Sentiment._

"You like to buy nail polish, even though you never wear it. You like haircuts. You dislike the smell of roses from the flower shop."

"You remember all of that?" She looked startled, gazing up at him with clouded chocolate eyes. "You're not just making that up?"

"Of course I'm not, my Mind Palace stores a great amount of information."

"But you haven't -what did you say? Deleted some of that? Any of it?"

Sherlock slowly shook his head, as if it's a realization to himself.  
"No, I've never deleted our time together. It comforts me, Molly.  _You_  comfort me."

Small tears fell from her eyes as she took his face in her trembling hands. "Okay." She whispered, kissing his cheek softly as he held her close. His eyes fluttered close as she gently kissed both of his eyelids and then the top of his head. Her thumb grazed over his bottom lip and he kissed it softly. "Okay."

"Sherlock Holmes, I love you."

"Sherlock Holmes, I love you.


End file.
